Beaufort Street Songwriters Club

Defectors Bar, 

above The Flying Scotsman
Thursday June 18, 2015
 

Rain-spotted patrons sank into velvet couches with their friends, clutching glasses of merlot and cab sav that matched the rich colour of the walls and ceiling in the dimly lit longue. Their relaxed but definite presence complemented the comfort and sophistication of the warm décor with its plentiful sort furnishings and abundantly-stocked bar. Some folk cast loving gazes upon their best-friend entertainers; many others are regulars who gather in Defectors Bar every Thursday to indulge in the weekly line up of acoustic singers from Perth’s best bands. Put together by Mark Neale, Beaufort Street Songwriters Club is gathering momentum and becoming popular among a diverse crowd of music lovers.

Watched by an intimate group of friends in the closest cluster of chairs, and onlookers scattered around the room, Mitch Mcdonald played a buzzing acoustic guitar and sang with a soft sweetness which is often drowned out by the steel-wool electricity of The Love Junkies. Included in the set were versions of the bands’ songs such as In The Belly of My Beast. The growing crowd tapped their feet, nodded their heads and swilled wine in time with this groovy, twisted ballad. An experienced stage performer, though more accustomed to playing an electric guitar, Mcdonald expressed his discontent with harsh strings of the acoustic. “This whole acoustic thing is fucking with me,” he said, shaking out his left hand. “It’s hard. It’s like playing a tree with bits of fucking wire on it. That’s pretty much a guitar really.”

The rabble busied themselves inhaling nicotine, refilling wine glasses and collecting pizzas from downstairs, as a new group of friends settled into the front row of couches. Through the windows the electric sky cracked and heavy rain fell. Grateful to be inside, everyone snuggled into velvet cushions and relished in the smooth sensuality of Aarti Jadu. She’s originally from Perth, but now lives in Melbourne with her band Aarti and the Cosmic Buffalo. Seated casually on a comfortable chair and speaking directly to the audience about the narratives behind her songs, she described the inspiration behind one whilst sipping whiskey from a stemmed glass. “I asked a bunch of people who I find interesting what they would do if they only had 72 hours to live.” Jadu’s guitar playing was intricate and intentional, and she sung with an understated soul and dexterity which had the audience entranced and frozen the point of barely breathing.

…or maybe all that red wine finally kicked in and they were just super relaxed

Snapping everyone out of their soothed state, Elle Walsh’s set gave context to the grungier side of The Love Junkies. Unaccustomed to being the focal point, though having done a handful of solo sets for obscure little shows like Teledex’s Chalk, she remarked “I’ve never played in front of this many people before.” The room listened intently to the descriptive and cathartic lyrics of Gloria To My Dysphoria. Soft, carefully drawled vocals and choppy, strummy chords played on the same buzzing guitar that Mcdonald had used earlier enhanced the downcast, gritty mood of the song.

A shiny new black-and-white Fender was plugged into an amp and Blake Byrne began without any introduction. He played the electric guitar with a capo for almost the whole set, giving a soft sparking diamond effect. Byrne’s demeanor was cool and effortless, and his voice had depth and sophistication at odds with his youthful appearance. He sounded almost exactly like Paul Dempsey, and it was a delight when he performed a point-perfect cover of Something For Kate’s Captain. If you haven’t heard of Byrne before, it would be well worth seeking out one of his solo shows or seeing his band, The Dead Capital.

Beaufort Street Songwriters Club is on every Thursday from 8pm. It’s cosy. It’s welcoming. It’s warm. There’s room for you and your friends to all sit together. You can order food from The Flying Scotsman downstairs. The only thing missing is mulled wine.

Article and out-of-focus photographs by Rrocklobster of Perth.

  

The Decline
Resister
Pee Records, June 2015







Announcing the departure of half their band in January this year, Perth's The Decline haven't skipped a beat. The year so far has been a flurry of touring, recording, and commissioning new merch designs. For the audience, it's like nothing ever happened. Seamless. Keep Punk And Carry On.

New members Ray Chiu (bass) and Ben Elliott (vocals, guitar) aren't really new at all. They're both long-time friends and fans of The Decline and have toured with them before. It's a different collaborative force with the same spirit, drive and professionalism that the band has always had; a level of proficiency that proves punks can take the job seriously too.

Maintaining a decade-long pattern of endearing vocals and madcap, expeditious skate-punk music, their new release Resister is full of the same sound you already know and love, with stronger power-harmonies and noticeably more introspective lyrics. Every song on the 13-track album carries value - there are no fillers here.

Released last month, single Giving Up Is A Gateway Drug introduced us to the bands' new incarnation. Presented in the skate-punk tradition of provoking motivation rather than protest, the lyrics prompt us to chase our dreams. Interest is created with contrast between fast-paced and slow and tentative sections, loud and quiet parts, and a balance of harmonies and individual vocals.

In Almost Never Met You, the U.S. west coast skate-punk sound is composed more adeptly that anything recently successful bands have been able to produce, and we hear a rare personal story from Pat. The track features a well-developed and crisp sound that we've come to expect from The Decline. It's radio friendly and tipped to achieve commercial success - are you listening, triple j?

Ben Elliott takes the lead in The Blurst of Times, which he wrote, and we become better acquainted with his vocal abilities. His folk-punk background and storytelling abilities shine through and he doesn't shy away from using caustic vocal techniques to express harsh emotions.

You Call This a Holiday starts with Pat's gentle voice, accompanied only by his own electric guitar. The stripped-back sound evokes the intimacy of performing for a small group of friends in a dimly-lit grassy backyard. Two minutes in, someone turns the punk back on and Pat is joined by Ben, Ray and Harry, helping the track to make sense in the wider context of the album.

Musician friends visit for group vocals in closing track Start Again, and it wouldn't be a Decline album without some audio sampling. This time it's Yoda. 

Inevitably growing up, moving forward, and developing a more refined sense of self, The Decline have recorded a collection of catchy songs that will make you feel like they're your friends and they want you to sing along. Of course, you could join them at their next show and sing along if you feel like it. They launch their album tomorrow night at Jimmy's Den.

Article by Rrocklobster of Perth.